Chapter Text
The sun blazed down at her.
She glared back up.
There was no time for this. The wolves needed feeding before it got dark, and for that to happen, she needed to find something to give them. They couldn’t hunt, some of them: too old and fragile, their ears and eyes failing. They couldn't find food for themselves anymore. She had to do it for them.
But it was so damn hot.
It shouldn’t have been. The summer was coming to a close. The leaves had started to brown, ready to fall and decay. Soon, the earth would be covered with snow, the air would be frozen each morning, and the old season would start. Soon, he would come back to her, joining her on her hunts.
Waving a quick revelio, Hermione stepped carefully over the dry twigs, towards the nearest deer. Her bow and arrow, slung over her back, was light, and so she stepped quickly. She never needed much ammunition when she came hunting: her arrows always flew true.
Lucky, too, because she got home just in time.
With the older wolves feasting on her catch, the pups trawled after her, nipping at the ankles of their youngest brother. Hermione was just about to scold them when she turned the corner into the clearing, saw a flash of blue.
Throwing up a protego, Hermione hissed out a stupefy. Heard a deep laugh, before she followed it with a binding charm.
“Is that all you’ve got, goddess?”
Her next spell, an enhanced stinging jinx she had been working on, hit true. Heard him curse the skin of his shoulder boiled, and burned. He would complain until she rubbed dittany on the wound for him. She would remember, as she did, that he liked to let her win, just to feel her touch as she healed him. Her wand lowered.
He stood there, finally, after months of being gone. Stood there, smiling widely, hair pale and shining, eyes bright across the distance. The other half of her soul, returned to her.
The wolves got to him first.
/ / /
“I don’t know how Crooks puts up with this,” he murmured later, when the pups had finally tired of him. Lowering himself to sit on the ground, next to her bent knees, his head falling onto her thigh. Smiling, she drew her fingers through his platinum hair, heard his sigh as she pulled apart the braids, loosening the tension on his scalp.
“They missed you,” she told him. “I missed you.”
“Did you?” Moving so he was looking up at her, Draco smirked. Reached for her hand, to bring her knuckles to his lips.
“Always,” she said. “It felt as if you were gone years, rather than weeks.”
“It was rather lengthy this year, wasn’t it?”
Pushing to a stand, he yanked her up with him, into his chest. Pulled her close, to press his nose to her pulse point. “I almost forgot what you felt like.”
“Almost?” With his lips pressed to her throat, she felt him smile.
“My dreams kept me warm.”
“I hope they were the only thing doing so.”
He pulled back, tilting his head at her.
“Do you doubt me, my lion?”
She didn’t. She hadn’t, ever. Draco was hers, and she his. But still. She had never been to his home realm, yet she had heard the stories. She knew what happened there, the temptations and pushing. Even having never met any of the gods, bar Draco and his father, and the latter only briefly, she knew what was expected of her lover when he returned home. She knew what he would have been doing, had he not promised himself to her.
“I doubt others,” she told him. “Never you.”
He hummed in satisfaction. “No thing or body could ever sway me from you, love. You know that. They could lock me away in Asgard for years, centuries, and still. I would be yours.”
Hermione closed her eyes, his fingers drifting through her hair. Leaning into his chest, she inhaled the scent of him, the trees and smoke and electricity that ran through his veins. Once, she had thought it strange, that someone such as he was so attuned to the earth around him. Back home, the men with Draco's level of renown and power had, eventually, lost that connection with their own world, favouring the lofty heights of the gods instead.
She had quickly realised: Draco was not like them. He was the woods she had built her home in, the fire that kept her warm. He was in the storms that came, the lightning and thunder and rain, and yet, the calm that followed. When angered, clouds rolled and the earth shook, the skies cracked.
Such power, flowing through his blood. And here he was, and would stay until he was forced to leave. He would tend to her home - now theirs - and her wolves - now theirs. He would lie with Crookshanks on his chest and plant seeds to grow, letting them do so naturally just so he could watch the slow growth of them. He would watch her cook meals from her homeland, memorise the recipe so he could remake it for her later.
No, Draco was not like the other men she had known. He was hers, just as she was his.
“Besides,” he said softly, “once they knew I was spoken for, the attempts to seduce me quickly ceased.”
Her gaze opened sharply, and she stared up at him. Expecting a smirk, a satisfied grin. But she only saw openness, content. His ocean-grey gaze was focused on a curl of her hair as he twined it around her fingers. At her stare, it found her own, waves colliding with earth.
“What do you mean?” she asked him softly.
“I mean, I told them. About you. Your existence, your place in my life. I told them all.” Now he did crack a smile. “It was nice, to finally be able to brag about you.”
“We hadn’t planned for that.”
“Not every moment needs to be planned for.”
“This did.” Hermione gnawed at her lip. “Did you tell them… everything?”
He paused. “Not everyone, everything. My mother, my father, yes. They are the only ones who I thought needed to know.”
“I can’t imagine they approved.”
“I didn’t stay in the room long enough to find out.” Cupping her jaw, he rested his forehead against hers. “This is good, Hermione. We’re free, now.”
“How free?” Pulling back, she put some space between them. “The gods won’t be pleased you’ve signed yourself away to another, especially without permission.”
“I’m the son of Lucius, the All-Father” he reminded her, “I don’t need permission.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s such a Draco thing to say. You won’t be repeating those words when Theo tricks you into imprisonment at Asgard.”
“That god can’t trick me, and he knows it. I know him too well.”
“And your mother?” Hermione’s gaze dropped, to his throat, “What did she think?”
“She asked me if I was happy.” Thumb under her chin, he tilted her head up to catch her gaze, “When I told her that I was fantastically, overwhelmingly, disgustingly joyous every moment I spent with you, she decided she liked you.”
“Was that before or after she found out about my heritage?”
Draco had the knowledge to pause, before he gave her his honest.
"Before.”
Turning her head away, Hermione stepped back, put space between them.
“You shouldn’t have told them.”
“Hermione.”
“They won’t like it, Draco. Your father could strike me down, your mother could curse me. Once the rest of the gods find out what I am-”
“You are the brightest witch across all the realms,” he said, following her step, “You are brave, and smart, and loyal. Stubborn, and opinionated. You are the daughter of gods-”
“Not the gods that matter.”
“-and you are mine,” he finished, standing near to her once more. “I’ll never know what I did to make myself worthy of you, but I pray to the All-Father, to my gods, and yours, that I do it in every lifetime, in every realm, in every universe. I pray that you keep me beside you, for the rest of our days.”
“That’s a long time,” she whispered.
“Forever,” he mumbled. “We’re both gods. We have eternity.”
"You have eternity. You're the one charmed to live without weakness."
Sighing, as he always did when the curse - his label - was mentioned. Hermione could empathise with Narcissa, her desperate desire to find something that kept her son safe from all danger. If only she had known the consequences, the difficult mix of emotions and pain that Draco's immunity had granted him. It had taken eight months for the first real crack in his composure to show, for her to see past the curse, see him.
That crack had become a fissure, another and another, until they all joined so that he was completely open to her. Months and months of tending to him after he was poisoned, trapped in her home by it. A year had passed until he was able to leave her and by then, neither Draco nor Hermione had wanted him to.
He reached for her, a hand moving over her waist slowly.
"You are my destiny, Hermione. Our parents, the Asgardians, which realm we’re in, none of it matters. Only us, our home, the wolves. Crooks, when he isn’t acting like a hound from Hel.”
At that, she smiled, let him pull her into his chest. Felt that familiar weight of him around her, melting her worries, dissolving her fears. Always so calm, until he wasn't.
“Whatever happens with the gods, with my parents,” he spoke low now, words only for her, “I’ll protect you. Know that.”
“I do know that.” Placing her palm to his jaw, she rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone, watched him lean into her touch. “I worry about you. What happens if they won’t accept your decision?”
“Then I’ll burn Asgard to the ground,” he swore, “It’s never been my home, anyway. And they’re not my family.”
“You shouldn’t say that. They're always listening.”
“Then my father knows, already, what I’ll do for you. That I love you, more than anything.”
Now she couldn't help it, and he knew it, too. Knew that those words from him were her weakness, that they had her skin tingling and her heart racing. Even after all this time, even when he had already said it not an hour before, still. He loved her, and although she believed it, at times it didn't feel real.
“I love you too. Even when you are reckless.”
He grinned. “I believe my recklessness had some part in you becoming mine.”
“Oh?”
“Had I not recklessly broke into your house, Crooks never would have attacked me, and I never would have needed your brilliant healing skills.”
“Or perhaps, if I were smarter, I would have let Crooks’ poison kill you.”
“It’s impossible to be smarter than you already are, my love.”
He kissed her, slowly and deeply, the way he always did when he returned from Asgard. This trip had been the longest, a full cycle of the moon before he had returned to her. Since he had first forced his way into her home, they had celebrated so many holidays together: Yul, Ostara, Midwinter. They had toasted to each other and their future together, rather than the gods, and yet with every passing season, Hermione had felt as if they were stepping closer and closer to a precipice.
In this realm, she was too far from her own gods to be blessed with their visions. She couldn’t foretell Draco’s future when she touched him, as she had done for so many back in Greece. It was rare that the daughter of a god spent so much time with mortals: her mother had often scorned Hermione for her behaviour. But Hermione had hated to watch the humans wither, spend entire lifetimes in pain, and so she had left Olympus, spent her developing years as Pythia to the mortals. As the Oracle, she had spoken for her gods and did so happily, with their own blood running through her veins.
And when her gods fell, when her realm burned, she fled.
Not alone. There was a handful of mortals who she had been able to save, who had survived the treacherous journey to Midgard. On arrival, they had been met by none other than the All-Father and his son. His son, who had taken one look at her, and decided he had to know everything. Had to know so badly, that he broke into her home less than a year after her arrival to his realm, taunted her cat, and gotten poisoned for it.
Hermione might have left him die. But even without her visions, Hermione felt her mother’s wisdom flowing through her. She felt, when she looked at him, that he was hers.
Hers, as he lifted her into his arms, carrying her through the threshold and into their home. Hers, as he lowered her to her feet, helping to unclasp her furs, let them drop to the floor. He would never allow her to undress herself, even when they had been in the height of rage. Treating it like a ritual, his hands on her were always gentle, always patient, even when he couldn’t understand her. Their passion extended to anger, although rarely, both vulnerable to the extreme emotions of gods.
For a moment, he took her in, naked and vulnerable. His fingers drifted over her breasts, down her stomach, stopping at the top of her thighs. A light push to her hips, and she fell back onto the bed.
“I seem to recall making you a promise before I left,” he said, head tilted, mouth curved in a grin. “Do you remember?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then lie back, love, and let me take care of you.”
He went to his knees, as her own widened, fitting perfectly over his broad shoulders. The fur of his cloak, still adorning him, was soft against the backs of her thighs, a contrast to the grip that came over her hips. Yanking her to the edge of the bed, he lifted her core to his face, inhaling deeply.
“How I’ve missed you,” he murmured. “I saw you everywhere, felt you everywhere.” The lightest of kisses to her clit had her jolting. “In Asgard, you are surrounded by amortentia. For four weeks, I’ve suffered with the smell of you, whilst being denied of your touch. It felt more akin to Hel.”
“Poor prince,” she poured, and he grinned at her.
“You’ll pay for teasing me.”
One slow lick along her, from opening to clit, had them groaning in unison. His tongue, circling her most sensitive part, moved slowly over her, controlled and purposeful. It had been so long, she was already shaking, his arm banding around her hips to keep her from grinding against his face.
“I’ll let you win later,” he said against her skin, “for now, I’m in charge.”
Letting out a small scoff, Hermione went to roll her eyes. Instead, at the feeling of his tongue pressing into her opening, they rolled backwards instead, a keening sound from her chest at the feeling of being entered, finally. His nose, rubbing against her clit, as his moans reverberated through her.
Draco pulled back, laving his tongue up to her clit, replacing his tongue with two fingers. Inside, they curled upwards, pressing against her walls, forcing a cry from her throat. Slowly, leisurely, with all the time in the realm, he licked at her, reminding himself of the contours of her body, of the way she tasted in his mouth. Propped up on her elbows, she saw when his eyes flashed up at her, so dark she almost couldn’t see the sky-grey inside them, the lightning that threatened to come forth.
“That’s right, Draco,” she whispered, “Such a good boy.”
Another groan against her clit, one more finger inside her as a reward. He loved praise, did her prince, loved to hear how much she loved what he was doing to her. Even when he was in charge, she had power over him. Power she had never expected to hold in her hands, power he granted her, gave to her freely. She knew, full well, that no other had ever had this, from him.
Leaning back slightly, he watched his fingers moving inside of her. Looked up to watch her chest heaving, her head falling back. When she lifted it once, he had a look on his face she knew all too well.
Worship.
“You are a goddess,” he whispered.
“Stating the obvious, are we?”
“My goddess,” he corrected, “my witch. Mine.”
“I want to come with you inside me,” she told him, “please, Draco.”
She watched him rise, sucking her arousal from his fingers. Nodding his chin at her, he started to undress.
“Touch yourself for me,” he ordered, taking control. As always, she followed his word, her touch moving over her breast, down to toy with her clit.
“Tell me, goddess,” he murmured, “have you been making yourself come whilst I’ve been gone, like I ordered you to?”
“Yes,” she gasped, “I had to. It was so long.”
“What did you think of?”
“You.”
“In what way?”
“Inside me.”
His body lining up with hers, the head of his cock at her opening, and Hermione felt him inching inside. Wrapped a leg around his hips, trying to pull him closer, trying to get more.
“Patience,” he tutted, “I want to savour you.”
Frustrated, Hermione let her weight fall to the furs beneath her, the soft pelt of the bear he had felled for her just months ago, to keep her warm in his absence. Keeping himself hovering above her, palm pressing to the bed next to her head, she latched onto his arm, digging her nails into his arm. Whimpered when he gave her another inch.
“Please, Draco,” she whispered. “I’ve waited for you, for so long. Please, I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you, everywhere. I want you to come inside me and give me a child, please-”
With one last thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, a stuttered groan from his chest. For a moment, all was still, and Hermione felt the cracks in her heart sewing themselves together. Felt the world calm, as if all were blanketed in snow. When he leaned down to kiss her, hips circling slowly, she wondered if the realm outside their front door had ceased to exist, if they were the only ones left. She hoped that it was true, that they really had an eternity.
That itchy feeling, that something was right outside their door. That even now he had come back to her, they stood on the edge of a cliff. That something was comi-
"Hermione." His mouth against her ear, his voice low and husky. "Don't get lost."
Trailing a hand to her breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, just once. When his thrusts paused, Hermione moaned in frustration, lifting her hips against him.
"How many times?" he muttered.
"How many times, what?"
"How many times did you come without me?"
"I didn't bloody count, Draco."
"Should have. I'd have paid you back in kind."
Rolling her eyes, Hermione grinned up at him, felt his fingers dancing in her hair. Shoving her hips up, she pulled him to the side, enough momentum to have them rolling. Astride him, she retook control, her nails in his chest, his grip on her hips.
"Be a good boy and let me use you," she said, "I've had to do it all myself these past four weeks."
"Poor princess," he smirked, and she almost laughed. Almost, because he moved his hand from her hip, splaying his palm across her lower torso. His thumb providing the perfect pressure, so that with only a few rolls of her hips, she finally-
"Draco." His name was more of a mantra as she came, the coil ricocheting inside her so that she felt as if she were flying, as if time truly had stopped. Her body went limp, her arms unable to hold her up so that she collapsed onto his chest, his arms wrapping around her waist.
“You were mine the second you walked into my realm,” he murmured into her hair, “with your sword of fire, your eyes so full of anger. I thought you would kill me. I thought I’d be happy to die at your hands.”
"You're so overdramatic."
With a harsh thrust from underneath her, Draco had her gasping once more. Had them rolling, so that they lay side-by-side. Hermione felt as if she were weightless, as if she hadn't slept in weeks.
"What about you?" she whispered, heard how her words slurred.
"Get some rest, love. I'll be here when you wake."
/ / /
Later, she stirred just as his hand was creeping up over a breast, fingers moving to splay against her throat. Thumb pressed against her pulse point, free hand wrapped under her waist, pulling her back to his chest, reaching down to line himself with her cunt. With one push, he was seated inside her, a tired groan escaping her throat.
"I love you," he whispered into her hair, his body pressing over hers as he thrust inside her, slowly, purposefully. "Even here, you fill my dreams."
She heard the husk in his voice, knew he hadn't slept. He never did after he had visited Asgard, mostly because he spent his nights reminding himself of the way she felt, the way she moved, the way she loved him. Sometimes, when he eventually did sleep, Hermione would wake to him thrashing, frown marring his forehead, sweat gleaming, and she would have to nudge him awake, gently. His nightmares took many forms although, more recently, she knew they had centered on her.
And so, instead of sleeping, he moved over and inside her, hand wrapped around her throat, holding her in place as he fucked her. Cock deep inside her, he paused, nipped at her ear.
"Did you mean it?" he asked her.
"Mean what?"
"That you wanted me to give you a child."
Hermione gasped as his fingers circled her clit, pressing just perfectly.
"I meant it," she said, and he groaned into her hair. Pushed his touch through her folds, collecting arousal and spreading it over her clit. Hermione whimpered at the feeling, writhing underneath him. "Please, Draco, please. I want to hold your come inside me, until it takes. I want you, my entire life, please, please please."
"Do you know what that does to me?" he said. "Those words, from your mouth? Come for me, love."
With his touch on her clit, his hand over her neck, she did it easily, as if under his command. Waves of pleasure rolled through her, pushing groans from her so loud she thought the woods might shake. His grip on her tightened, and Draco was chanting her name - Hermione, Hermione, Hermione - into her skin as he spilled inside her. The lightest of kisses to her shoulder before she turned her head to meet him.
"You will be the end of me, goddess."
"Not soon," she whispered, "Not ever."
/ / /
They were given three months.
In that time, Draco became convinced that she was going to give him a son. A brown-haired, grey-eyed boy, with the power to call forth lightning, like his brother. Or maybe, he said, his son would be more like him, with the power of knowledge, and wit. Hermione had rolled her eyes at that.
He was certainly doing the work. Even now, after she had come for the fifth time just this morning, he was holding back, waiting until he felt she was ready to hold his seed inside her. Bent over the table, hair splayed, nails digging into the wood, Hermione felt the edge digging into her hips as he thrust into her. Hard, deep, slow. The way he liked to have her.
"Fucking mine," he murmured, pulling her upright by her hair. When he came, he dug his teeth into her throat, marking her. So that if anybody were to come near, they would know that she was his.
She had left similar marks on his body. Bite marks and scratches and a bruise from a failed attempt at a position Hermione had heard a girl gossiping about at the market. He had only laughed, pulled her to the floor with him, and let her take him there, instead.
They were given three months.
And then, Hermione woke in the middle of the night. Was sure, despite that untimely warmth in the air, that she could smell snow.
/ / /
The end arrived with a harsh knock to their front door.
Draco was watching her cut onions, head tilted, mouth curved in a soft smile. She glanced at him, then looked to the door. Something in the air, something distant and unknown, pressed down on her. When he moved to answer the door, she reached for him.
"Don't," she whispered. Frowning down at her, Draco's hand wrapped around hers.
"What's the matter?"
"I-" she swallowed. "I just-"
There was another knock, louder now, angry and demanding. Hermione's grip on Draco's tunic tightened, and when she glanced at him, his face was hard. Eyes, blank, slate-grey, were trained on the door. There weren't many moments that Hermione had seen Draco like this, so closed off.
It only made her more frightened for him.
Moving past her, he stepped to the door, pulling it open. Beyond, over his shoulder, Hermione saw only a silhouette, heard only a murmured voice. Then, a moment.
In that second, time stilled. Later, she would wish that she had done more, that maybe she had prayed to Máni, the timekeeping god, to keep them there, forever. Coated in glass. Draco, his gaze bright and unreadable, looking back at her. She felt it, his will for her to understand, and yet, as she stepped forward, he shoved through the door.
"No."
The word left her in a whimper, against her knowledge or control. A murmur, a wish, something so small and yet, the only word she could think.
No.
Stepping quickly, knife still in hand, she followed Draco outside, into the warm air. Somewhere to the right, one of the older wolves prowled, the low sound of a growl. They were clever, her pups, aware of their territory. If they were up and stalking, something was wrong.
She had never met Theo before, of course. But she knew, finding the vision of him over Draco's shoulder, that it was him. Dark eyes, dark cloak, dark presence. The space vibrated with some sort of hissing, as if snakes were crawling around her, and Hermione shivered. Went to take another step, until she saw Draco's hand outstretched behind him, palm towards her.
No.
"It's not personal," Theo called across the clearing "You know that."
"Funny," Draco replied. "It certainly feels personal."
"We all have a part to play, Draco."
There was a pause, and Hermione's free hand twitched, not for her wand, but for her bow. Her mother had taught her to shoot arrows before curses, and it still felt instinctual. Across the space, Theo's dark eyes moved from Draco, to her. At her side, that grip twisted into a fist, tightening around the knife.
"You should tell your little witch to go back inside."
"You should leave her be."
Now Draco's tone was dark, full of warning. Overhead, the sky darkened, clouds rolling, and Hermione felt her lover's magic heat the air, wrapping around her in protection. She wanted to hold it close, cling to it in the hope that it would grant it's wielder the same safety. In her heart, she thought she could keep him. In her head, she knew this was out of her control.
A terrifying reality, for a goddess.
Hermione heard a growl from behind her, felt a pup at her side. Ahead, another joined Draco, her partner's hand coming down to rest atop his companion's head. Her whispered accio brought her wand to her hand. Surely, together, they would triumph. They had to.
In the end, they never had a chance.
The curse came quickly, with a simple flick of Theo's wand. One simple flick, and that reality crashed around Hermione like hailstones. Draco's resounding protego, the bright white light of his own spells, the howls of the wolves. It felt, to Hermione, that time was both too slow and too fast.
Her last moments with Draco were rushed and panicked. She heard him calling her name as she rushed to his side, felt the warmth of his magic as they sheltered each other. Hermione sent a nasty incendio towards Theo, wincing when one of the wolves came too close to being singed.
But the trickster God had his own hounds, ones that came as shadows, curling around her pups and keeping them from protecting their master. Hermione cried out when she saw one fall, dark claws sinking into grey fur.
"Hermione!"
She heard it, just as she felt a pressure at her side. A piercing pain, as the Hel-hound's jaws clamped over her hip, the collision so powerful that they went tumbling to the side, her body pinned under the strange, cold weight of the dog. The smell of decay, of death, of stifling smoke, falling over her. Hermione felt as if she were back in Greece, watching her city burn and wandering where her mother was, why she wasn't coming to save her people.
Where are you?
Her knife, dropped in her shocked pain, was too far to reach, even if she could stretch out her hand for it. The shadow-hound was atop her, teeth snapping, inches from her face. All her weight was keeping it from her throat. Her wand, lost.
And again, another moment where Máni's fingers dipped into time, holding her still. Her head, turning.
Her eyes, meeting Draco's, as if the god of time was giving her one last chance to memorise him, knowing that what she had been given was not enough, would never be enough.
She knew he knew it, that he had to make a choice. She knew, what he would do. He raised his wand.
"No!"
His depulso sent the dog flying into the air, the lack of weight a sudden relief. But the time it took him to save her was a distraction Draco couldn't afford, turning his attention away from Theo long enough for the god to send a curse that her lover couldn't stop. The world flashed green, an unfamiliar word shattering time and space.
Then, silence.
She saw him fall. Heard the bizarre thud of his body hitting the floor, the awful gargling sound of blood from his body. Felt a strange confusion settle over her, because he couldn't be hurt. Not Draco, who's mother had scoured the Earth for a way to keep him safe forever. Not Draco, who had no weakness. Not her Draco, who had promised her an eternity.
Yet, as she rose to her knees, she knew. As she stumbled over to him, she knew.
Theo had gotten there first, using his tricks and shadows to apparate to Draco's side. He had bent one knee, head bowed as his opponent bled out at in front of him. Hermione's anger rose inside her, as it hadn't done in years, maybe ever. As she tripped to a stand, her hand, as if this moment were fated, wrapped around her knife.
Her throw, as always, hit true. The knife embedded in his back, where his heart was supposed to lay in his ribcage. The power of it sent him forward, to one hand. Shoulders hunched, Theo turned, looked at her with a strange expression.
"We all have a part to play," he called again.
Hermione raised her hand, twitching her finger in the usual motion. Her knife ripped from his skin, returned to her as it always did, pulling a pained cry from it's victim. In her hand, the grip was slick with blood, so dark it was almost black.
He didn't stay to see his fellow god die. Theo disapparated, and Hermione was left with her lover once more.
Now, she could take the place beside him, kneeling in the ever-growing puddle of his blood, saturating the ground beneath him. Gasping, Hermione held her hands over his chest, tried to find the curse. Accio-ed her wand to wave a diagnostic, crying out at the unfamiliarity of the curse.
"Hermi-"
"No."
Pressing her palms to his stomach had him groaning, a low, awful sound she had never heard from him before. It had her whimpering, had her looking up to his face. So pale, too pale, the grey-green of his eyes a storm that should have been thrashing, should have been sending the skies rolling. Instead, she saw that light dimming, felt that warmth dissipating.
"No, no, no."
"Hermio-" Draco coughed, god's blood falling from his mouth. She couldn't look at him, couldn't look away, scared that if she blinked, she would lose him. He would leave her. "Hermi- Vanaheim. Vanaheim."
"Draco."
In another life, in another realm, perhaps names held enough power. Perhaps calling for him as she did, pulling his head into her lap, holding him to her chest, was enough. Perhaps, in another realm, the gods cared enough to save him, his father was brave enough to stop the fates, his mother's charm covered every curse, even new ones full of tricks. Perhaps, somewhere, Hermione was strong enough to keep her lover.
But not here. Not in this realm. Here, Draco died in her arms and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Here, she called his name a thousand times a thousand times, and it changed nothing.
Changed nothing, except now, the air turned cold.
They felt the shift instantaneously.
It had happened during Council, whilst a particularly annoying lesser god had been asking for their allegiance to protect his land against a neighbouring rival. Frankly, not one of the three had been listening.
Good, perhaps, because that rivalry wouldn't matter now.
Standing, Pansy pulled the others into the corridor, the one that felt more like a cavern than anything. Enough room for their power to sit together without it feeling like they were on the brink of disaster. Lavender had an uncertain expression in her blue eyes. Ginevra was rolling her shoulders. Together, alone, they let their wings take form, shaking them out.
"You felt it, yes?" Pansy asked them. When they nodded, she only sighed.
The three of them apparated into the clearing before the house, the one they had visited only six months prior. The goddess hadn't been at home, then, and that had been purposeful. He had asked them to come when she was away, so that she wouldn't hear. It meant that Pansy's first glimpse of the Grecian goddess was one of grief, a mourning so loud and powerful that Pansy felt the ground quaking. She glanced up, saw the skies darkening, night taking form early. So, Máni was here.
She wasn't sure that there would be a god that wasn't present, to watch as Hermione grieved her loss.
As they stood, the goddess let out a cry. Half of heartbreak, half of rage, pure and unrestrained. Pansy winced, feeling a crack through the realm, through her chest. As a Valkyrie, she was tied to Midgard, to those that resided and died here. At the gates of Hel, the god that had lost the duel was calling for her. There was no time to observe his loss, and the hole it left. Turning, Pansy motioned to the others, nodded that it was time to go.
As she prepared to disapparate, Pansy heard another cry from the goddess. Felt wetness on her cheek, and thought she was crying. Shocked, she lifted a hand, touched it to her jaw, wondering what her tears looked like. Frowned down at her fingers when she pulled them from her face.
Found only snow.
/ / /